


Buttercup, The Cat Burglar

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And the number one hayffie shipper of this story, But it's fun!, Buttercup Being Awesome, F/M, it's a bit on the crack side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 04:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: “Do youtrainyour cat to commit burglaries, Mr Abernathy?” she asked.How she could word that question with a straight face, he wasn’t sure, buthecouldn’t help a chuckle. “Ain’t my cat, sweetheart. I’m just making sure he doesn’t starve.”





	Buttercup, The Cat Burglar

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this first meeting au: “My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back” on a list and I just… couldn’t resist XD So you get a modern Au that’s half crack and half steam with a small amount of feelings on top. I don’t really know what this is but hopefully, some of you might like it!

Haymitch tossed his coat on the closest armchair, grumbling under his breath about how cold it was, both outside and in the house. The first thing he did was add a few logs in the dying fire and stroke it until it was a decent size again. Then, he turned around with the firm intention of pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

He _hated_ market day.

He _hated_ it with a passion.

He wasn’t sure if raising geese he had no desire to eat or sell so they could become food would be considered a lucrative business. As it was, he sell the eggs twice a week and the feathers he collected every couple of months, it didn’t make a fortune but added to the money he still had from his time in the military – because doing special _secret_ operations for the government paid better than his birds – he got by easily. He wasn’t a great spender anyway now that the girls were both gone. A bottle of whiskey now and then – not enough to get irremediably addicted as promised to his surrogate kids – some books, and he was good.

He _didn’t_ startle when he turned round to find the ugly ginger cat comfortably lying right where he hadn’t been a second ago. One would think he would have gotten used to the presence in his house but one would be very, _very_ wrong. It was hard to get used to the muddy yellow tomcat, with its missing ear and mashed-in nose, jumping from every shadow to either hiss at you or rub against your legs lovingly, depending if he was in the mood for mayhem or food.

“What did you do now?” Haymitch asked with a resigned weariness. “Please, tell me it ain’t Greasy Sae’s stocking again…”

Ever since Prim had left for college, the cat had more or less moved from the Everdeens’ house to his. He figured that it was because Katniss had moved in with Peeta and Aster was still fragile and could barely take care of herself. He had never extended an invitation to the stupid cat but Buttercup seemed to have decided that with his owner gone for an extensive amount of time and his owner’s sister – who he hated – at the other side of town, Haymitch’s couch was the next best place to wait until Prim came back for the holidays.

So the fact that the cat seemed to have become kleptomaniac since Prim left seemed to fall on him – at least, according to the neighbors.

It had started with socks. Various sizes and colors, although almost always from Beetee Latier’s house – he knew, because after placing traps and catching the cat in a box, Beetee had knocked on his door with the culprit effectively jailed. Socks were handed back against the cat, promises were made that it would never happen again.

Of course, it _had_ happened again.

Except not just with Beetee.

Lately, Buttercup seemed to have developed a liking for old Sae’s  support stockings. The number of times he had strode back into the house with one of those dangling from his mouth…

Greasy Sae wasn’t someone who liked to joke around and he didn’t enjoy when she came around to lecture him on how to raise cats. She wasn’t moved when he pointed out _Prim_ had done the raising. He was just… cat-sitting.

Whatever Buttercup had stolen now, it didn’t really look like a sock and Haymitch took a step closer, not frightened by the low grumbling of the clawed monster. They had an understanding the two of them. If the cat attacked him, the cat would go back to his own house and try his chance with Aster for a few days. A week of irregular meals that were never his favorite treats usually brought him back much easier to deal with.

At first, he almost concluded it _was_ another of Sae’s stockings because of the fabric. It looked a little like nylon. Except it was an undefined color between green and blue. A pretty color, truth be told, that didn’t really fit Sae. Then, he realized it wasn’t nylon at all but lace and that the cat had already destroyed a good portion of it.

With the dexterity brought by experience, he snatched it away, tugging when Buttercup’s quick paw made a good job at trying to reclaim it by stabbing the delicate fabric with its claws.

Eventually, he managed to free it and let out a low impressed whistle once he figured out what he was holding. Lacy see through blue-green panties with a cheeky little golden bow on the back.

“Hope you didn’t get _that_ from Sae.” he snorted, glancing at the cat. “You’re gonna get me in trouble again.”

Buttercup kneaded the couch with his claws in answer, a glint of murder in his black eyes. He was still staring at the ruined panties and Haymitch shook his head before going to the kitchen to throw them away, wondering if living with him had turned that cat into a psycho or if he had already been one before and just behaving for Prim’s sake.

Sae never came raging about an alleged panties theft so Haymitch forgot all about the matter.

At least until three days later when he found Buttercup very busy nuzzling what looked like a frilly pink thong on their kitchen’s table.

“You dirty, dirty old boy.” he accused, snatching the piece of clothing away. This one hadn’t suffered like the last one, which meant the cat hadn’t gotten around to playing with it yet or that he hadn’t been hungry enough to try and eat it. _Or_ that he was more into _nuzzling_ it but, really, _that_ was pushing boundaries he didn’t feel comfortable exploring.

He studied the soft piece of fabric, unable to stop himself. It was delicate and just as see-through as the blue-green one had been, except for two thicker lines of lace at the seams that wouldn’t hide anything from view. _Pretty_.

“Wonder where you find this stuff.” he mumbled, his mouth suddenly a bit parched.

It had been quite a while since the last time he had let Chaff convince him to go into a bar to pick up someone and… He cleared his throat and put the thong in the box full of stolen items he kept on top of a cupboard, telling himself he would go out and find someone soon. Clearly, if he was turned on by the pink thong of a random stranger who could be absolutely ugly for all he knew, he needed to get laid very badly.

The next theft happened two days after that.

This time it was a burgundy thing in between a thong and panties, still see-through, with a triangle hole on the bottom. He figured the hole would fit _right_ on the small of the woman’s back and…

“You started stealing in town, yeah?” he asked, his voice tight.

He didn’t know a single woman in their immediate neighborhood that would wear this sort of things. They were all either _very_ old women or frantic mothers who were always late for something. He couldn’t imagine any in that sort of expensive kinky lingerie. Not one.

Buttercup was very irritated when he confiscated his new toy and tried to scratch him. After a couple of hours though, Haymitch was apparently forgiven on account of the cat’s empty stomach. It was almost funny to watch the animal roll on his lap and purr like a turbine, trying to get back into his good grace.

“Stupid cat.” Haymitch mumbled. “Stop stealing this stuff. I’ve got enough _‘you need a girlfriend’_  bullshit from Finnick, I don’t need you jumping on that wagon. I _sure_ don’t need a woman anyway. Though, can’t say I’d say no to a good _fuck_.”

He hadn’t called Chaff yet. Because Chaff, like Finnick and the rest of their friends _including_ Prim and Katniss, were of the opinion that since he was done playing full time mentor-slash-unofficial-guardian to his neighbor’s daughters, he needed to find something else to do on the side. And by something else to do, what they really meant was _someone else_. Peeta had even tried to create him an account on a dating website, he had lost count of the number of blind dates he had narrowly escaped in the last couple of months… No, it was much safer to stay home, filter his calls and avoid his friends as much as possible.

He _could_ go to the bar by himself and find a willing woman but with no one there to keep him from the edge, it would most likely end up with him getting wasted than with a one-night-stand. And if he called Finnick or Chaff…  He needed to get laid, true, but he didn’t need – _nor wanted –_ a girlfriend. No matter what his friends thought.

His last serious relationship had ended up with the girl dead along with the rest of his family while he was on the other end of the planet for a stupid mission – the one that had cost him half his team and during which he had been forced to witness forty-eight kids dying when a school was accidentally bombed. A success all around.

He would probably have ended up a waste of space, a cliché drunkard vet who could barely function, if he hadn’t met Katniss a few years after he had come back. Eleven and an orphan with a defiant attitude, a stubborn streak that was far too endearing, an adorable little sister and a depressed mother – and so very much in need of help, he had been invested before he had even realized it. Prim often said he had saved them but, really, it was the other way around.

And now they were both gone because that was how those things go. Children left the nest. And he was lonely and bored and, sure, Katniss checked in every two days and he liked her boyfriend a lot because Peeta was a sweet boy who always made sure he had fresh bread and didn’t forget to eat but… It wasn’t the same.  

He didn’t need a girlfriend though.

That was just his stupid friends projecting their own life goals on him.

He jumped with a curse when Buttercup bit his hand and he glared at the tomcat on his lap.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s get you fed, you monster.” he spat, chasing him from his knees.

Routine, he told himself, routine was good. Feed the cat, grab a book… Maybe a good jerk off before bed…

 _Routine_.

A routine that was disturbed the next morning, while he was checking on the geese, by Buttercup dashing down the street and straight through the open kitchen door as if the devil himself was hot on his heels, something red dangling between his teeth. Haymitch followed after him because the red thing looked much bigger than panties or socks.

The cat was out of breath, huddling in the corner of the kitchen, and it took Haymitch almost a whole minute to snatch the piece of fabric Buttercup had stolen this time. Lace again but not panties… He turned it around a couple of times, trying to make sense of it. Was it a bra or a top? It looked far too… _slutty_ for a top so it must have been lingerie, a bra, yeah… Two triangle of lace that tied around the neck and the back, with a very big diamond-shaped hole in the middle that couldn’t hide much at all.

The bra’s cups didn’t look big… He was about to guess at the size by trying to fit his fist there – scientific curiosity and nothing else – when the doorbell rang. Three times in a row.

Haymitch glared at Buttercup because he had a good idea what it was about and tossed the bra on the kitchen’s table before making his way to the front door. By that time, whoever it was had rung it two more times and he _hated_ that sound. Most people _knocked_ around there. It wasn’t that big a town, after all.

He brutally opened the door, a scowl on his face.

The woman was… _Gorgeous_ , was a good word for it. _Posh_ , was another one. He didn’t think he had ever seen someone so posh in their little corner of the world before. She was wearing a soft grey high-waist pencil skirt, impossibly tall heels and a blue blouse that made her eyes look even bluer than they already were. The legs were endless and the eyes were very blue, her blond hair was pinned high in a severe bun that reminded him of Tinkerbell – because Prim had had a _phase_ around ten when she wanted her hair just like that all the time – and didn’t suit her at all.

She looked uptight – which he hated.

Except he had a good idea of what kind of stuff she was wearing under those strict clothes and that wasn’t uptight _at all –_ which was interesting.

“Yeah?” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being disturbed.

She pursed her lips but forced a pleasant polite smile when she outstretched her hand. “Mr Abernathy, I suppose? Effie Trinket. I recently moved in a little further down the street.”

 _Damn_ but her voice was high-pitched.

And her accent… Clipped vowels and an affected tone…

The airs she was giving herself.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and ignored the hand, a little disappointed. Not that he had been _fantasizing_ about the kinky panties’ owner but… Well, he had been a little. _Maybe_ he had let himself picture a nice woman with a generous laugh, glossy dark hair and easy to get along who would have joked the whole criminal cat off.

And instead what he got was…

What even was she to dress like that? An accountant? A lawyer? A secretary?

“And?” he prompted when she simply stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her words or welcome her in the neighborhood or whatever people did those days.

She pursed her lips even further and narrowed her eyes, letting her hand drop back to her side. He had to give her that, when she spoke, her voice was perfectly controlled, not a hint of irritation came through. “Do you, by _any_ chance, own a cat, Mr Abernathy?”

“Nope.” he shrugged.

Her jaw clenched, her blue eyes glared daggers and he found himself shifting because…

She was very, very hot.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about the red bra on his kitchen table and how he had been right, there wasn’t much up there but enough that it would fit perfectly in his hands and…

Her next words jerked him off from the fantasy he was quickly falling into.

“How _peculiar_.” she hissed. “You see, I asked around and the consensus seems to be that you own a particular ginger cat with a missing ear.”

“That’s Primrose Everdeen’s cat, you’re looking for.” he told her, glancing around behind her.

The street was calm and deserted but he knew there would be at least one or two old women behind their curtains, spying on them. After all, Sae’s stockings weren’t the only ones that had been stolen and that Effie Trinket looked like the kind of person who give him a good run for his money. He supposed old ladies had to find their revenge where they could. Unless it was Beetee who still hadn’t forgiven him for his favorite socks getting ruined who had directed her to him. 

“Primrose Everdeen.” she repeated, clearly not convinced.

He helpfully pointed at the right house, thinking it was only right Aster had to deal with this. It _was_ her cat too after all. “Next door.”

He didn’t feel very guilty about it. Aster would probably not even answer the doorbell. She never did.

Effie Trinket – and what kind of name was _that_? – didn’t even _glance_ in the direction he indicated. She placed her hands on her hips and studied him.

She was aggravated, that was plain to see. She was also very much checking him out if he wasn’t mistaken.

He lifted his eyebrows, his lips stretching into a smirk.

She ignored it.

“Everyone seemed to agree the cat was yours.” she remarked.

“Everyone’s wrong.” he shrugged.

“Then, why did I see him dash into your backyard just a few minutes ago?” she retorted with a sweet, _sweet_ smile that promised a thousand torture wrapped in a nice little bow.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t feeding him.” He smirked harder.

She blinked twice but he couldn’t really guess at what was happening in her head. She had a very good poker face.

“Do you _train_ your cat to commit burglaries, Mr Abernathy?” she asked.

How she could word that question with a straight face, he wasn’t sure, but _he_ couldn’t help a chuckle. “Ain’t my cat, sweetheart. I’m just making sure he doesn’t starve.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it only to open it again, her tone suddenly more chilly. “My name is Effie Trinket. You may address me as Effie or Miss Trinket but you certainly _cannot_ call me _sweetheart_.”

“Sure.” he agreed easily. “Sorry. _Princess_.”

If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead.

It really shouldn’t have been _that_ attractive.

But maybe if she would stop sneaking glances at his mouth…

“ _Your_ cat repeatedly broke into _my_ house.” she accused.

He rolled his eyes. “ _Ain’t_ my cat and it ain’t _my_ fault he likes socks. Take it up with Prim when she comes back from college.”

“Oh, I think we are both aware he did not steal _socks_.” she snapped. “Now. Do you have my belongings or should I simply go to the police station and report you for…”

“For what?” he challenged, amused.

“Feline mugging!” she exclaimed, poking his chest with an accusative finger. “You trained that _beast_ to sneak into innocent women’s home and steal their underwear! Probably for your _twisted_ enjoyment!”

He snorted at that. “You know, I’m half tempted to go with you just to see Cray’s face if you try to report _that_.” He shook his head, eyes twinkling in amusement. It had been a while since someone had bothered to keep up with him in that kind of banter. And he wasn’t the only one that the conversation had amused. He could see it under her irritation. She was enjoying this too. Maybe a little too much. Her finger was still poking at his chest, less too accuse and more to… _check_ firmness. He batted it away. “Come in. Your stuff’s in the kitchen.”

He stepped back but she didn’t move.

She lifted perfectly shaped eyebrows. “You expect me to walk into the home of a possible pervert?”

“My cat’s the pervert.” he mocked, heading to the kitchen, leaving her to follow or stay there.

“I thought it wasn’t your cat?” she retorted.

Still, after a few seconds, he heard the front door closing and the echoing sound of her heels on floorboards. He tossed her a glance over his shoulder, not quite surprised to see her less than impressed with his house. It was a mess and not as clean as it should be. Hazelle did her best but even the most awesome housekeeper couldn’t match his natural tendency for chaos.

“Holding your nose?” he taunted. “Smell that bad?”

She looked horrified at having been found out.

“I would never!” she protested with a huff. “How rude do you suppose me to be?” She pursed her lips, looked around again and then… “I do not mean to offend you in any way but why does it smell so much like poultry?”

“’Cause some of the geese wandered in this morning.” he shrugged. He tended to leave the backdoor open and that sort of things happened more than he wanted to linger on. Hazelle always complained about having to clean geese poop from his floors.

“Geese.” she repeated slowly, understanding quickly dawning on her face. The honking had probably puzzled her. “Do you own any _normal_ pet?”

“Normal’s overrated, sweetheart.” he dismissed.

Her face hardened again. She really wasn’t keen on pet names.

Which only made him all the more determined to use them.

Riling her up _was_ fun.

“There _you_ are.” she scowled once she stepped in the kitchen and found Buttercup sitting in the middle of the table, relaxed as you pleased, his butt on the red lace Haymitch had tossed there earlier. “You are a _very_ naughty cat, mister.”

Buttercup flicked his brushy tail one way and then the other, eyeing her with obvious disdain.

Haymitch privately thought he looked less proud of himself earlier when he had been running like hell from her fury.

He grabbed the plastic box from the top of the cupboard and handed it to her. “Take whatever’s yours.”

She looked stunned at the number of pieces of clothing in the box. Socks mainly, a couple of stockings, a few half-eaten tights and, of course, her underwear.

He kept his eyes averted because now that she was standing right there in his kicthen, he felt bad.

It wasn’t that she was embarrassed exactly but she did blush a little when she quickly snatched her thongs. Her previous indignation wasn’t so funny anymore. After all, she didn’t know him and he had seen something private he hadn’t been meant to. She had every right to be furious. After the cat _and_ after him for not controlling the furry pest better.

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I tossed the first one in the trash. He had eaten it.”

“I see.” she said flatly before clearing her throat. “My bra, if you will? I dare not approach this cat, he almost clawed my arm off earlier.”

The blouse’s sleeves covered any possible injury from view but Haymitch winced, knowing just how vicious Buttercup could be. _He_ didn’t escape unscathed when he rescued the bra but he didn’t think it warranted her shocked gasp. The scratches on his forearm were bleeding but it wasn’t that bad. He opened the cold tap and let water stream on it, watching her ball her underwear, probably hoping it would make it less obvious what she was carrying.

“There are trash bags in that cupboard.” he offered, pointing to a low cupboard.

“Thank you.” Her smile was relieved and grateful and, for the first time since she had rung that doorbell, _genuine_. It was also breathtaking. Not that Haymitch would have had admitted that. She quickly hid everything from view in the trash bag and then approached him to peer at the wound on his arm. “Do you have a first aid kit? I think you need a bandage at the very least.”

He was half tempted to let her play nurse.

“Ain’t that bad.” he denied, turning the water off and flicking his hand a few times before wiping it with a dishcloth that had been abandoned on the counter. “Look… I’m sorry, alright? For real.” He wasn’t really good at apologies and he felt awkward now. “I know I should probably have tried to find you to give it back but… He’s only stolen socks and stuff like that before, never…”

“Well… He has good lingerie taste.” she joked. “There is always that.”

Her eyes were riveted on the floor and there was a soft blush on her cheeks. It was obvious she was uncomfortable and that made him feel even worse because… He didn’t want her to feel that way. It wasn’t right.

“I didn’t look.” he lied.

She shot him an incredulous look and he winced.

“Not much.” he amended.

Her lips twitched and while the awkwardness didn’t completely disappear, she looked more amused than ill-at-ease. _Confident_ again. He liked that, he realized, the charisma she had.

“Can’t promise it won’t happen again.” he warned. “He’s been acting out since my kid left for school.”

She frowned, curiosity written all over her face. “I thought you said it was the neighbor’s cat?”

“It is.” he confirmed and then rolled his eyes because he was so used to everyone knowing the story that it was odd to have to explain it. “The girls next door are kind of my kids. Raised them. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“I see.” she said. She studied him for a second and then flashed him a polite smile. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Mr Abernathy, but I am afraid I must dash. I simply _must_ get to work.”

“Okay.” he shrugged, walking her back to the front door. He watched her strut down his lane and then called out, just as she was opening the gate. “Name’s _Haymitch_ , by the way.”

She paused, looked back with another of those blinding smiles, and then continued on her way down the street.

He found Buttercup sulking on the couch.

“Fine.” he snorted. “You’ve got taste.”

The cat growled in answer but Haymitch dropped next to him anyway, ignoring his bad mood. Buttercup was _always_ in a bad mood.

He spent the whole day in a weird frame of mind, unable to shake off the memory of Effie Trinket staring him down. _Fuck_ , but he had forgotten how hot a fiery woman could be.

It was all it was, of course, and he told himself that firmly.

She was witty and beautiful and clearly had no trouble flirting with strangers who owned a pervert cat…  

And he had a bad case of blue balls.

When he kicked his sweatpants off that night and wrapped his hand around himself, it was just to relieve some of that tension. So, sure, he first started thinking about glaring women and, _sure_ , those women soon turned into one gorgeous blue-eyed blonde. It wasn’t right to jerk off to the thought of the new neighbor he had only met because his cat had stolen her – _kinky_ – panties but he was too far off to care at that point…

He couldn’t stop imagining her, what she would look like… How it would feel to rip that skirt and blouse off her, too easy to picture the red bra or the pink thong on her… None of that tight bun on her head either… Her blond hair sprawled on the pillow under her head… His fingers tangling in the strands…  

His hand was rough and almost brutal as he stroke himself to relief.

Would she be rough or sweet? Soft or violent? Shy or passionate?

The possibilities were endless and by the time he made a mess of his sheets, he was out of breath, delirious with lust and half-hoping Buttercup would steal from her again just so he could have an excuse to approach her.

Not that he would ask her out…

He didn’t ask women out.

He didn’t date.

He didn’t…

But maybe they could…

 _Yeah,_ a sarcastic voice at the back of his mind mocked, _a woman like her, she’s clearly into one night stands. Sure. Tell yourself that._

“ _Shit.”_ he muttered.

He hated to think the voice was right but he wasn’t very talented at hoping or lying to himself. He flopped on his stomach, firmly told himself to stop being an idiot and forced himself to  go to sleep.

He went out into town the next day.

Because he was low on groceries, not because he was hoping to bump into her.

If he _had_ hoped to bump into her, he would have been disappointed anyway because she was nowhere to be found.

He stopped at the bakery last, happy to find Katniss there so he could lecture her _again_ about what an inconvenience her stupid cat was.

“It’s Prim’s cat, not mine.” was the only answer he got out of the girl.

Two more days passed without any burglary – although he _did_ have a moment of hope when he found Buttercup munching on a black fabric but it turned to be one of _his_ socks – and Haymitch pretended very hard he wasn’t disappointed with that. He wondered if she had found a system to keep her underwear a little more secure than previously or if she had just gotten better at making sure the cat couldn’t get in at all.

He wondered a lot about her.

It was ridiculous, of course. He had seen her _once_. _Utterly_ ridiculous. And he was done with this weird obsession. Completely done. He was over it. _Absolutely_ over it.

From Hazelle – who he _subtly_ interrogated while she was doing the cleaning and complaining about how he couldn’t keep his house spotless for three _bloody_ days straight – he got that she had moved in a little over two weeks earlier from a big city. From Sae, he figured out she wasn’t much of a cook because either she came to the restaurant – and mostly ate alone – or she ordered take out. From Peeta, he learned that she had bought the empty building at the corner of the street from the bakery and was planning to open a lingerie shop – which explained a lot if not everything. From Katniss, all he found out was that the woman was odd – which probably meant too eccentric and posh for her tastes.

After a week of heavy denial and quite a few evenings spent pretending he wasn’t jerking off to fantasies of her touching him, he finally admitted she had caught his eye and that he should do something about it.

A resolution that was quickly forgotten when he realized he hadn’t seen Buttercup in a while. He hadn’t been immediately worried because the cat came and went as he pleased and it wasn’t unheard of for him to go back to the Everdeens’ house for a night or two or even to Katniss and Peeta’s but it was odd for him not to come back and ask for food three days in a row.

He _refused_ to admit being worried because it wasn’t like _he_ cared about the cat – it was well known Haymitch Abernathy didn’t care for anything or anyone after all, or at least that was what he liked to pretend – but it was Prim’s cat and Prim would be _devastated_ if anything happened to him. He looked everywhere for the stupid animal. At Aster’s, at the bakery, in the meadow, in every street and dark alley…

So, in the end, it was a bit anticlimactic when the doorbell rang, just as he was about to call Katniss and beg her to help him hunt Buttercup down, to find Effie Trinket standing on his doorstep with a slightly displeased expression on her face.

He had been imagining that very scene for a while now – and in every version of it, he was quite the charmer and it ended always ended with a kiss – but now he had more pressing concerns.

“Buttercup didn’t steal anything.” he snapped defensively before she could open her mouth. “He’s gone. I can’t find him.”

“Oh, I _know_.” she breathed out with obvious irritation. “He is in my bed.”

He had to do a double take at that. “What?” He frowned, taking in the short tight red dress she was wearing. It was the complete opposite style of the skirt and blouse she had been wearing the other day and he wondered if that was her being _relaxed_ or if… “Is that a come-on?”

Because he was _tempted_.

But the missing cat…

She lifted her eyebrows, an amused smile floating on her lips. “Not quite. Your cat is _literally_ in my bed and I cannot shoo him away without him hissing at me. I thought about just… bundling him in the sheets but I do not want to hurt him, no matter how rude he acts. Could you…”

“Yeah.” he said at once, puzzled by what had gotten into that tomcat now. He had never done that before. Sneak into a neighbor’s house, yes. Steal stuff, yes. But just _settle_ there?

He followed her down the street, trying not to be too obvious when he stared at her ass. It was _impossible_ not to stare. It was right there and that dress clung to it like a second skin and she kept swinging her hips _that_ bit too much…

“If you are _quite_ done ogling me…” she grinned and he realized he had been so lost in his silent contemplation he had missed them reaching her house and her unlocking the door. She was waiting for him to come in, eyebrows raised.

“Wasn’t ogling you.” he muttered.

“You are not a great liar.” she snorted.

“Arrogant much?” he scoffed, annoyed at being found out so easily.

She thought she was in control here and _that_ , that he didn’t like at all. He liked calling the shots. He liked being in charge. He liked…

“Perhaps.” she challenged. “However that does not mean I’m wrong.”

He ignored her smug face and stepped inside.

 _Challenging_.

That was a good word for her. She was challenging. And _fuck_ if he had ever been able to stop himself from raising to one.

Her house couldn’t have been more different to his. It was… _colorful._ Bright artworks on the walls, furniture made of dark cherry wood, colors everywhere else… Curtains, rugs… He glimpsed a red _fridge_ and matching appliances on their way past the kitchen…

The layout of the house was similar to his though, so he wasn’t surprised when she led him up the stairs and to the left. The master bedroom was all in pink and cream tones. It was ridiculous but not without its charm, he figured.

Given that everything seemed to have its proper place in the house and that everything was meticulously clean, he very much doubted she had left the bed unmade that morning so he deduced that Buttercup had been the one making a mess of it. He had made himself a nice little nest with the bedspread and the sheets.

“He has been coming and going for the last couple of days.” she explained. “I think he spent the night downstairs once or twice. We had an agreement that as long as he did not steal my underwear again he was welcome.” She pursed her lips at the cat. “But this is taking it _a bit_ far.”

“You could have said.” he spat. “I’ve been looking for him.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “What do _I_ know of your cat’s habits? Trust me, I did _not_ ask him to stay.”

He studied her with some mistrust. He _wasn’t_ going to explain to Prim that a stranger had stolen her cat.

“Get your own pet.” he warned.

“Gladly.” she huffed. “Perhaps I will get a dog. It _should_ keep your cat from breaking and entering.”

He looked her up and down and then smirked. “You ain’t a dog person. You’re high maintenance. Like a cat.”

“Oh, you think you have me all figured out, haven’t you?” she hissed.

“Not yet.” he shrugged. “But that’s the fun part.”

He half-expected her to blush or stutter but she stared straight back at him instead, her chin jutted high, a hint of defiance in her blue eyes… At least until her gaze darted to his mouth and she licked her own lips.  

His smirked widened.

Had she been thinking about him too?

All the flirting didn’t mean she wanted more but…

“Get that cat off my bed.” she ordered.

“Bossy.” he commented.

“In everything.” she remarked in a casual way that was not casual at all. Her voice was just that little bit lower and…

“What do I get out of it?” he asked, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Buttercup was eying both of them in turn with _very_ obvious annoyance.

“Your cat back.” she deadpanned.

“Maybe I don’t want him back.” he challenged.

“You wanted him back two seconds ago.” she remarked.

“Maybe I’m fickle.” he shrugged.

Her grin was slow and almost predatory, her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “I _sincerely_ hope not. Fickle men are not worth my time.”

Suddenly the pink and cream tones of the room didn’t look so ridiculous. They look intimate. He wanted to step closer to her, maybe to kiss her just to erase that taunting grin from her lips…

He didn’t move.

If he moved first, he lost.

And he was very much enjoying the game.

“Maybe I want something more than just the cat.” he stated and he barely recognized his own voice. It was rough and just as predatory as her grin.

Another woman might have been intimidated or scared by a virtual stranger making that sort of heavy flirting in their bedroom, she _barely_ blinked. She simply tilted her head to the side. “Name your price.”

“Maybe I want to see what you’ve got under your dress.” He waited a second, just to make sure he wasn’t pushing it too far but when she just stood there and stared back with the very same glint of lust in her eyes, he licked his lips. “Maybe I want to see how this frilly stuff Buttercup stole looks on you.”

“That is assuming I have any underwear on.” she hummed.

A sound escaped his throat, halfway between a groan and a whine.

He wasn’t sure who moved first.

All he knew was that one second they were standing a respectable distance apart, the next her mouth was crushed against his, hot and demanding, and her hands were ripping buttons off his shirt. The kiss was almost brutal, dirty in all the right ways, her fingers tangled in his hair, _pulled_ … He fumbled with the zipper of her dress, he tried to shove it down but it got stuck around her hips and she stopped him to slip it over her head instead…

She had a black lacy bra on underneath and the matching panties to go with.

And she was even more gorgeous than he had thought she would be.

He wasn’t sure how they ended up against the wall or where she had been hiding the condom she rolled on him.

They were kissing again, then she was tugging him and then he was pining her against the hard surface…

It was rough and frantic and he briefly wondered if she had been having a dry spell too because she looked as desperate and eager as he was…

The noises she was making though…

 _Fuck_ , but he could get _addicted_ to those.

Moans and sighs and whimpers and whines…

It was over far too fast. Her strangled cry of pleasure brought him over the edge and he lost his footing frantically thrusting his release into her. They collapsed on the floor, half on the bedside rug, out of breath and a little sweaty.

It took him a good minute to get rid of the condom, knot it and carefully place it aside, too dizzy from his climax to properly compute. He didn’t even try to stand up. He was pretty sure his legs would have protested.

It could have turned awkward really fast – because what the hell had even just happened? – if she hadn’t started laughing.

“See… When a woman laughs right after I’m done with her, it doesn’t do wonders for my ego…” he joked.

She rolled on her side and hooked a leg over his hip, propping her head on her hand and patting his chest with her other one. “I have a feeling your ego doesn’t need any stroking.”

“I’ve got something else I’d prefer you to stroke anyway.” he smirked.

She glanced down and bit down on her bottom lip in a thoughtful way. He was almost scared by what her brain was imagining now. Almost. He was also excited to find out.

 “Perhaps later.” she hummed. “Once you have chased the cat from my bed.”

It was a dangerous assumption. _Later_. He didn’t usually stick around long enough with a woman for there to be a _later_.

But she was gorgeous, feisty, very naked, very willing and still something of a riddle. He had never been able to resist a good riddle. Or a challenge. And she was both. She was both in a very appealing package.

“You’re a weird woman.” he told her.

She was so different from any he had met before… He wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing yet.

“Says the very puzzling neighbor.” she chuckled instead of taking offense. “Do you know nobody I asked could give me the same explanation about you? According to some, you are a recluse, to others you are a secret millionaire or a generous sweet man with a boorish exterior I should _definitely_ consider going out with…”

“Let me guess…” he snorted. “That was Sae.”

“Peeta actually.” she corrected. “Sae’s suggestions were more… akin to what we just did.”

He lifted his eyebrows, not sure if he should be surprised or disgusted by the idea of the old woman making that sort of implications. He chose to ignore it altogether and focus on the main thing. “ _So_. You asked about me.” He probably sounded far too smug about that and maybe the taunting was a little too much but he couldn’t help it. “Liked what you saw the other day, sweetheart? Couldn’t stay away?”

“Well, you _were_ conducting your very own investigation.” she teased. “It seemed only fair I enquired in kind.”

“How do you…” he frowned.

“People talk.” she dismissed. “And you _are_ quite handsome despite your rude cat. I was interested anyway.”

The way she said that scared him a little.

She didn’t say it as if she intended this to be just a fun night. She said it as if she intended to have fun nights quite a few number of time in the near future and maybe some serious stuff in between the fun too.

He wasn’t sure he was up for _that_ …

Of course, it was the moment Buttercup jumped from the bed directly on his stomach, leaving claw marks on his already scarred side, and sauntered away with his tail high, hissing for no particular reason.

“I think the cat has a crush on you, sweetheart.” he scowled, glaring at the retreating butt of the animal.

“Poor thing.” she laughed and then she got busy kissing up the side of his neck. He guided her leg more firmly over his hips so she was almost straddling him…

“He’s a fragile cat, you know.” he commented casually, running his palm up and down her thigh. “Looks all tough but… He’s been hurt pretty bad before. Made him a bit wild. Ain’t quite sure he’d known how to be tamed.”

“Some untamed animals can be very loyal pets.” she retorted, letting her lips travel to his collarbone. Her tongue found a small scare there and retraced its length. “It takes time to win anyone’s trust. I am quite… _fond_ of him too, for what it’s worth. Despite our short acquaintance.”

How she could talk so fancy when she was doing unspeakable thing to his nipple – sucking and licking and… – he didn’t know.   

“Just…  Don’t toy with the cat’s feelings, yeah?” he insisted, guiding her head up to capture her mouth in a violent kiss.

“Never.” she promised, her hand wandering down his side only hesitate on the big swollen scar. She kept her eyes averted and her voice sounded more fragile than he had ever heard it.  “But I hope he won’t play with mine either.”

“That’s not his style.” he snorted, brushing his fingers along the length of her spine. “He’s more into collecting your panties.” 

“What a naughty cat.” she chuckled. “Is his owner just as naughty?”

He rolled them over and started kissing his way down her stomach, intending to show her just how naughty he could be.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!


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